Angels Breathe
by sweetburgundy
Summary: Set after Christmas special 2012. Dr Clarkson must fight his feelings while trying to comfort Isobel. Spoilers!


**Despite preferring Elsie and Charles in general, my first story ended up being Isobel and Dr Clarkson! Weird. Anyway, I don't own these characters (sadly!). Please review!**

"Do you believe in angels, Dr Clarkson?"

Isobel was sitting bolt upright on the edge of her seat, clutching the lifeless hand of her only son. She had handled the news remarkably with only a few silent tears and a simple request to see him before anyone else. It was understandable that she would want to see him before the undertaker could change him into something unrecognizable to her, but Dr Clarkson had to warn her that it wouldn't be pleasant. She hadn't flinched at the cuts, bruises and blood and, as he so often found with Isobel, Dr Clarkson just didn't know how what to say.

"I do, Mrs Crawley," he replied quietly, standing at her shoulder. It wasn't quite a lie. How could he not believe in angels when he was surely in the presence of one, with her honey hair, deep chocolate eyes and that oh so gentle manner? Even when she was grieving, she was beautiful and soft and sweet. He knew however, that was not exactly what she meant.

She smiled sadly at him, but her eyes were without their usual fire and it almost broke his heart. He knew that this calm acceptance was just a mask and he worried intensely for her. She had nobody left now, nobody to share her sorrow and grief, so she would smile and cope and carry on. But he imagined how she would shatter come the long, dark nights alone with no one to see her tears or hear her sobs and it almost broke him.

"I'll walk you home, Mrs Crawley," he offered gently, as she stood up to leave. As he could have guessed, she tried to refuse him but he pushed the matter and she tired quickly. Drained of her usual energy and spirit, she was almost grateful to accept his arm as they left the hospital, glancing one last time at the motionless body of her son.

* * *

"You don't have to be alone, Mrs Crawley."

"Oh, Dr Clarkson, you know I do. You can't stay here forever and who else do I have?" She spoke matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders and fixing him with her gaze. He would have melted had it been in any other circumstance but as it was, he needed to be strong for her. He wanted to tell her that he could stay forever; he would stay by her side for as long as he lived but he knew that she did not reciprocate those precious feelings. It would do more harm than good now, so what was there left to do?

"I'd better go then. It's getting late and I imagine you must be so very tired." He wasn't sure if he imagined a small shift in her expression as the reality of being left alone set in. Every fibre of his being wanted to stay with her, to hold her all night long but he knew she was a proud woman. She would never want to be seen like that and he had no choice but to respect her wish for privacy, no matter how much his heart ached for her.

She stood silently as he shrugged on his coat, no trace of her usual smile on her lips. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line, her beautiful eyes gazing somewhere into the distance. She didn't speak, even as he bid her goodbye and it took every ounce of strength in his body to walk away from her, to turn and close the door behind him.

It was raining heavily as he walked down the garden path, soaking him through to the skin in seconds. The trees swayed in the strong wind, casting eerie shadows all around and he stopped suddenly, yet again plagued by doubts of leaving Isobel alone. He felt a hand on his shoulder, small and vulnerable, making his decision for him. She stood there in the rain, no shoes on her feet and the rain running down the soft skin of her bare arms.

"I… can't," she whispered, her voice breaking as grief took hold of her in that moment, consuming her like a raging fire. He did not hesitate, scooping her up gently into his arms, feeling her slight frame trembling against his own body. He headed back to the house, promising to fix the broken wings of this angel he held close to him, hoping that somewhere God was listening.

* * *

He tried not to think too much as he carefully helped her out of her clothes and wrapped her in a towel. He had been in this situation many times with patients at the hospital but Isobel was different. It wasn't even the fact that he was so deeply in love with her. It was how broken and delicate she looked when she was stripped bare, no fine jewellery or gowns to hide behind. He pulled her stockings off, taking care not to brush her thigh or stroke the arch of her foot as he would like to.

Once she was finally free of her wet clothes, her hair now loose and drying in ringlets down her back, Dr Clarkson took her back downstairs to sit beside the fire. He sat beside her, not saying a word but just holding her hand as she stared into the distance. He watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek, splashing onto the back of her hand and he cradled her head against him.

"It's ok," he whispered into her hair. "You've got to let him go now.

He could feel her shoulders shaking against him as she tried to hold back the sobs rising in her chest. Gently, he rubbed her back, one hand still tangled in her hair as he supported her against his chest and he could feel her quietly falling apart in his arms. She needed this or she would go mad. Grief could do many strange things to a person, but as long as she had him, she felt as though she might just survive.

* * *

The morning sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, illuminating the pale skin of her face and highlighting the honey tones in her hair. Dr Clarkson took a moment to savour the sleeping angel in front of him, finally at peace and unaware of the world around her. She had cried herself to sleep in his arms by the fire and he had carried her upstairs to bed when he thought she was far enough away not to wake. He had slept fitfully in a chair by her bed, stirring at her every sigh or movement, anxious that she wouldn't be alone when she woke.

He didn't know how much of his heart he would sacrifice for this woman that he knew didn't love him in return. Being so close to her hurt him a great deal, knowing that he would never be able to touch her how he wanted, whisper sweet words in her ear or simply spend the evening in her arms, talking idly about anything and everything. He wanted her to be the first thing he saw every morning, half-awake and delicate, and the last thing he saw every evening after the madness of the day had been left behind. That, however, would never happen and he just appreciated the site of her as she was, despite the sad circumstances that had lead him there.

She woke gently, the memories of yesterday had still not returned to her and for several moments she looked peaceful in the haze of sleep that still hung over her. Dr Clarkson saw the moment those memories returned to her. Her whole body tensed, her hands clutching the bed sheets around her and her eyes almost wild with pain and anguish.

He reached for her without hesitation, his touch firm and reassuring as she prayed desperately that it had all been a terrible nightmare. Her sobbing started again, chest heaving, breathing erratic and hands searching for anything she could hold on to that was warm and firm and alive. She pulled him closer to her with surprising strength and he took her silently into his arms, tracing calming circles on her back and affectionately stroking her hair.

She was almost child-like in her grief, searching blindly for safety and clinging on to it however she could. Soft hands were all over his shirt, her breath tickling his neck and her tears mingling with his own skin. It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss away the tears, lie her down on the bed and make her forget about life for a while.

He tried not to react when her lips brushed his neck the first time. The second time, it was harder to believe it was an accident, especially the way her hands were clutching at his chest and any other skin they could find. The third time, he pushed her away from him, afraid she might feel his reaction, holding her face gently in his hands.

"What's all this, Isobel?" he asked gently, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He had used her first name, hoping to drop any pretence of formality and offer a plain and simple friendship. In that moment, she looked deeply into his eyes and pressed her lips against his, bringing her hand up to the back of his head to pull him close to her. She tasted so much better than he could every have imagined; like cherries and warm tea. Her kiss was gentle, as he had expected, but he could feel the fire and passion building and taking over his every conscious thought.

This has to stop.

"Isobel, my angel. We can't do this," he said, taking her by the wrists to stop her wandering hands and putting some distance between them. "You know how I feel about you. Well, if you didn't, you certainly do now but it wouldn't be fair of me to take advantage of you like this."

"And what if I feel the same?" she responded defiantly, a glint of fire returning to her eyes. He couldn't decide if that was true or not, but the way she had kissed him, he was tempted to believe her. Maybe it wasn't the fact that she was now completely alone and grieving that had driven her to kiss him like that, but the realisation that life was short?

"Then I'd be honoured to make you feel better in any way I can. Do you feel the same, Isobel?"

She didn't reply. She smiled for the first time since Matthew's death and pressed her lips once more against his. He could feel her smile and it was the best feeling in the world.

"Of course I feel the same," she whispered against his mouth, her hands creeping up to his hair, running her delicate fingers through it.

She pushed him gently onto the bed, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and he couldn't help thinking that he must be witnessing the most beautiful site in the world. She was surely an angel, but at the end of the day, he was only human and could not hold on to conscious thought any longer as she began to slowly undress him, breathing her love for him into his ear, over and over again.


End file.
